


You know I can't let you slide through my hands

by riversdamsel



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 14:24:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4628616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riversdamsel/pseuds/riversdamsel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times the Doctor lets River Song go and one time he can't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You know I can't let you slide through my hands

**Author's Note:**

> Filling a prompt that required me to use the words "you have to let me go," and it just sort of escalated from there. Oops
> 
> Title from Wild Horses by the Rolling Stones

_1)_

 

“You have your grumpy face on.”

 

The Doctor jumps at the closeness of Amy’s voice and immediately switches off the scanner.  “What?  No!  My face is not _grumpy_ , Pond.”

 

Amy leans against the console next to him, long arms crossed and a single eyebrow winged up as she regards him skeptically.  “You’re right.  There was some…intrigued fondness in there, too.  Only one thing that can mean.”

 

“And what’s that?”  The Doctor asks warily, not at all liking the knowing look plastered across his ginger friend’s face.

 

A smug smile pulls up the corners of Amy’s lips.  “River’s sent you another message.”

 

He sputters, immediately shaking his head in denial, regardless of the fact that her statement is completely on point.  “No!  And I’m not intrigued by her!  Or _fond_!”

 

Her smug smile only grows and he inwardly curses this body’s habit of flushing when he least wants it to happen.  “Maybe a little intrigued,” he finally acquiesces, jiggling a toggle on the console as he resolutely avoids looking at her face.

 

“A _little_?!”  Amy scoffs.  “I think you look forward to the times when River calls you more than any other adventure.”

 

The Doctor shrugs evasively, willing his mind to come up with some way to move the topic off of the sexy space vixen that keeps popping up in his life.

 

Wait.

 

 _Sexy_?

 

He huffs at himself, feeling his cheeks redden further as he recalls the skin tight jodhpurs River was sporting rather fantastically on their last mission together.  _Definitely_ sexy.

 

“And you’re _definitely_ fond,” Amy continues in her smug tone.  “Any time the two of you are in the same space you gravitate toward her like she’s the earth and you’re the bloody moon!”

 

The Doctor opens his mouth to retort but is stopped as she presses on, “ _And_ I saw your face when you realized she was stuck in that time loop.  You were genuinely terrified.  Even if it was only for a second.”

 

“Of course I was!”  He finally snaps.  “But the TARDIS kept her safe.”  The Doctor runs his hand fondly over the console in an act of gratitude, his lips lifting into a smile when his ship hums in return.

 

“I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn about it.”

 

He sighs at her.  “I… _she_ …it’s not simple, Amelia.”

 

Amy shrugs and flips on the scanner, bringing up River’s message.  “It could be.”  And with that she exits down the corridor to join her recently wedded husband in a night of rest before their next adventure in the morning.

 

The TARDIS hums under his feet encouragingly.  “Oh don’t you start, too,” the Doctor grumbles at his ship.  He glances up at the message, finding himself smiling as he thinks that he would be sure to be met with one of those devastating smiles and a _hello sweetie_.

 

“ _Fine_ ,” he speaks no one in particular, recognizing only to himself that not going was never an option in the first place.  He just happens to find her unique brand of charm to be completely irresistible.

 

Making quick work of inputting the given coordinates, the Doctor flips the required switches and a few others just for flare, regardless that there’s no one around to show off to at the moment.  At a brief glance in the mirror he straightens his slightly askew bow tie and skims a hand through the hair at the side of his head.  When it finally occurs to him that he is _preening_ of all the ridiculous things, he immediately forces his hands to his sides and replaces his mildly soppy grin with a scowl he doesn’t really feel.

 

The Doctor pulls open the doors in one swift, rather dramatic movement, fully expecting to garner the complete attention of River and whoever else might be on the other side.  A plasma burst whizzes past him the second he steps outside, just missing his ear and causing him to yelp.  Cupping the side of his face, the Doctor takes in the scene before him and quickly deduces that no one here is particularly interested in him or his magically appearing blue box.

 

The atmosphere is full of smoke, panic, and the sound of terrified voices mingling with heavy, clanking boot steps and a chanting of ‘ _You will be deleted_.’

 

Regardless of the utter destruction and havoc being wrought, the Doctor’s lips twist into a smile.  His bad girl never disappoints.

 

Wait. _His_?

 

Though now isn’t really the right time to deduce his sudden possessive feelings toward a certain curly haired time traveler, he thinks that maybe he should set time aside for that later.  Another plasma burst zooms over his head and yes, _definitely_ _later_.

 

Quickly pulling his sonic from the inside pocket of his tweed, the Doctor inwardly braces himself and launches toward the fray of humans battling the group of Cybermen.  The ground suddenly rumbles beneath his feet at his first step, sending him stumbling as the earth beneath him tremors violently.

 

He pays no attention to the scrapes on his palms, only watching in horror as the edge of the cliff not far off crumbles away.  Cybermen _and_ an unstable surface?  Bloody perfect.

 

“Of course it can’t be easy.”  Despite his grumbling tone, he is unable to keep the excited grin from his face, hopping to his feet as the shaking recedes and continuing his earlier course.

 

Adrenaline rushes through his veins and pounds in his ears as he weaves through people and shuts down Cyberman after Cyberman with but a flick of his wrist and help from his sonic.  The air is hot and stifling, and his hair and shirt is sticking to his skin in a matter of minutes from sweat.

 

After shutting down twelve Cybermen, he feels the warmth of another person pressed against his back, curls tickling the skin at his neck and his grin is immediate.

 

“What sort of time do you call this?”  Comes a familiar voice, slightly out of breath as she pants and shoots down the Cybermen before her.

 

“I imagine it’s the perfect time, honey,” he answers, ducking and turning as she moves with him to shoot over his shoulder and he over hers.

 

“I sent you a message hours ago!”  Despite her disbelieving tone, River takes a second to pause and grin brightly up at him and the Doctor’s smile only widens in return, his hearts lifting at the very sight of her.

 

Dirt smudges her face and the wind causes her curls to whip wildly around her head like some sort of untamed halo.  Her clothes are sweat damp and her chest is heaving from the amount of energy she has exerted thus far.  Distantly, he thinks that she looks like some sort of beautiful warrior goddess.  For all he knows, which is practically nothing, she could very well be just that.

 

The retort he had for her is lost as the ground quakes beneath them once again, the sound akin to that of a destructive lightning storm and making it feel as if thunder is rumbling through the layers of the earth instead of the dark clouds held in the sky above.

 

Somehow he manages to keep his footing this time, only off balance for a moment before returning his full attention back to the Cybermen.  By the time there is nothing but deconstructed metal at his feet, River has run off to battle with the last one standing.  The two of them stand precariously close to the edge of the crumbling cliff he noted earlier, and all it takes is one swift kick of River’s boot and the Cyberman is tumbling off the edge.

 

The Doctor breathes out a sigh of relief, a sudden post-battle silence settling.  River turns toward him, her right hand pressing against her left shoulder and a savage frown on her face.  When she takes her hand away, the Doctor’s stomach plummets at the brilliant red now staining her fingers.

 

“River?”  He calls, refusing to acknowledge the slight edge of panic in his voice as he starts to jog toward her.

 

“I’m fine,” she calls back, frowning in a way that conveys that she is more irritated than in pain.  Before the Doctor can have time to be grateful that she suffered nothing more than a flesh wound, the earth gives another sudden, jolting rumble that immediately sends him to the ground.

 

His knees crack against stone and he hisses in pain, becoming increasingly annoyed at repeatedly falling from no fault of his own.  There’s the sudden, harsh sound of splitting rock, and his hearts seize in his chest as glances up to find River struggling to stand, the piece of cliff under her feet beginning to crumble.

 

“River!”  Her name is torn from his throat, a harsh rasp full of such panic that there’s no way even he can deny it this time.  Another quake shakes the ground, forcing her right back to her knees.

 

Somehow, the Doctor is able to find his balance even as the ground continues to shake, his hearts pounding as he sprints toward River.  The ground beneath her falls away and she calls out to him even as she makes an attempt to leap from the falling rock to where he is, her uninjured arm stretched toward him.

 

He experiences a second of pure terror as he leaps forward, heedless of the way the ground scratches at his skin as he lands on his belly, the upper fourth of his body now hanging off the edge of the cliff.  His hand just manages to clap around her forearm before she falls out of his reach, his hearts feeling fit to explode as he looks down and realizes that the only thing keeping her from plummeting into the dark abyss below is the lousy grip he has on her arm.

 

River glances down, giving a laugh that carries a slightly hysteric edge as her boots try to find some sort of purchase on the cliffside, her fingers digging tightly into the skin of his forearm to try to keep from slipping.

 

“Give me your other hand,” the Doctor speaks desperately as he reaches for her with his free hand.  She cries out in pain the moment she tries, the shoulder injury given to her by the Cyberman making it impossible for her to reach her other arm to him.

 

“Just hold on,” he tells her nonsensically, his brain rushing a mile a minute in an attempt to come up with a plan as she dangles, his grasp on her slowing slipping.

 

River looks at him then, and instead of looking fearful like any sane person might, she looks oddly calm.  “You have to let me go,” she pants out.

 

“What?!”  He cries out, quickly concluding that she has lost her mind as he attempts in vain to tighten his grip on her arm.  A bubble of hysteric laughter wells inside him because _no_.  He is _not_ going to let her go.  Ever.

 

The sudden realization makes his hearts flutter, knowing that he means it for more than this certain situation.  How has River Song wormed her way into his hearts so quickly?

“Sweetie,” she says sternly, her tone forcing him to make eye contact with her.  The wind causes her tangled curls to obscure her face, but even so he sees the trust in her eyes and the small smirk that tilts the corner of her mouth just ever so slightly.  “ _You have to let me go_ ,” she repeats and _oh_.  Now he gets it.

 

Even so, he hesitates.  What if he doesn’t make it on time?  Just one millisecond off and he would lose her.

 

“I trust you.”

 

The Doctor swallows thickly because what has he ever done to deserve such unconditional trust from this woman?  “I’ll catch you,” he promises, and River actually manages a full, out-right smile.

 

“I know,” she replies, sounding a hell of a lot more confident than he feels.  By now she has slipped so that his fingers are gripping tightly around her wrist, and plan or no plan he is going to lose his hold on her regardless.

 

“See you in a second, dear,” he tries to quip, failing as his tone falls flat.  His eyes close as his fingers release her wrist and allows her to drop.

 

Refusing to watch, the Doctor immediately hops to his feet and sprints toward the TARDIS, only stumbling once as the earth gives another angry rumble.  As he bursts into his ship and flies up the stairs to the console, he forces himself to think about the incredibly stupid display of trust she showed when she threw herself out of an airlock at the Byzantium.

 

He caught her then, he will catch her now.

 

After a few quick maneuvers around the console he lands with the base of the TARDIS planted firmly on the side of the cliff, inwardly thanking his ship for her internal gravity.  Running to the doors, he throws them open just in time for River to crash inside, landing right on top of him with an _oomph_ and sending them both crashing to the floor.

 

For a moment neither of them move, tangled around each other in awkward angles and breathing heavily as the feeling of relief fills the air around them.

 

River laughs suddenly, pushing herself off him.  “Land me in the pool next time, sweetie.”

 

The Doctor stares at her, torn between intrigued and slightly frustrated as he refuses to show her the genuine fear that had briefly resided in his hearts.  Still a bit winded, he glares weakly and points a finger at her.  “Don’t you dare make this a habit, River Song.”

 

River laughs again, bright and full of amusement like she hadn’t just nearly died and given him enough anxiety to push him into his next regeneration all at the same time.  “Sorry, honey, what’s done is done.”

 

He splutters at her, putting on a show of being a lot more outraged than he actually feels.  “Are you saying you _do_ make this a habit?!”

 

River smiles at him and gives him a wink that tells him all he needs to know.  “Spoilers.”

 

 

_2)_

 

Normally, he would never rush off and leave his friends on a strange planet to find a way home that doesn’t include himself and his beloved TARDIS.  But he has to go, has to leave _right now_ , and he has left them in perfectly capable hands- in fact, in light of the recent revelation, he thinks they are in the most capable hands out there.

 

River Song.  _Melody Pond_.

 

The Doctor giggles gleefully, still in a fair amount of shock as he spins around the console, flipping the switch to take him into the vortex and letting his ship handle it from there.  She knows where he needs to be.

 

There are so many answers he wants to questions he probably can’t ask, but for now he just needs to _see her_.  To touch her and hear her and affirm that _yes_ she is _his_ , something that means so much more now than he ever could have ever imagined it being.

 

The TARDIS lands with a hum that sounds decidedly excited, as if his ship has been patiently waiting for this moment to arrive.  And she probably has, now that he thinks about it.  The TARDIS is the entire reason there is even a _plus_ in River’s DNA.  The Doctor pauses, the thought arresting his hearts as he runs his hands gratefully over the wood of the TARDIS doors.

 

It seems that River was made for him.  An equal to him in every way, meant to fill the lonely space in his hearts that can’t be touched by his human companions.  Briefly closing his eyes, the Doctor sends silent thanks to his ship and flings open the TARDIS doors.  The Library gave him every reason to run from the woman with golden curls and a dangerous smirk, who trusted him so easily and dangled his future in front of him with an infuriating smile.  But today he stops running.  Today he reaches out and snags that future for his present self, hoping that if he holds it close enough it won’t be able to slip through his fingers.

 

Outside of the TARDIS rests a small cottage in what seems to be a secluded area of the human colonies on Luna.  Regardless of having never seen the small dwelling before, the Doctor knows it belongs to River.

 

After a number of persistent knocks and quite a lot of shifting impatiently from foot to foot, the woman in question finally swings open the door in what can only be described as an agitated manner.  River stands there in seemingly nothing more than an oversized button up shirt, her hair a wild mass of curls around her head, and an annoyed expression on her sleepy face.  If the glare she is currently directing at him wasn’t enough of a clue that she is less than thrilled at him showing up at such an hour, the gun she grips tightly in her hand would have definitely tipped him off.

 

“Do you have any idea what time it is, Doctor?”  River asks with a sigh as she puts the gun aside and lounges against the door frame, one hand now placed firmly on her hip.

 

If he were to stop and take stock of the current amount of earthlight, he would be able to confirm that it is indeed some ungodly hour in the middle of the night.  But right now he can’t be bothered by a silly thing like _time_ , which is funny considering he is supposed to be the lord of it.

 

The Doctor giggles breathlessly as he stares at the woman before him, his mind still reeling from the new information.  He has always recognized that River is an undoubtedly beautiful woman, but _now_?  Not even the stunning sunrises of Gallifrey itself could rival her.

 

For once this regeneration seems speechless, the Doctor incapable of anything other than a face-splitting smile even as River stands there wearing nothing but his shirt and a scowl he knows she doesn’t actually feel.

 

Wait.

 

 _His shirt_?

 

The Doctor’s eyes widen as he takes in the pale stripes of the cotton shirt and _yes_ , it is most definitely _his_.  The simple act of her wearing his shirt makes him feel suddenly inordinately possessive.  She is _his_.

 

The Doctor lets out another giggle, still eyeing the shirt as he fully realizes that not only is she his, but _he_ is _hers_.  Suddenly, he can’t handle not touching her for another second.  Just as she opens her mouth to no doubt say something else disagreeable, the Doctor moves forward, cupping her face softly in his hands and kissing her for all he is worth.

 

River melts against him immediately, and the Doctor smiles against her lips as he feels her grumpy mood dissipate.  She tastes like time and honey and the thrill of discovery.  The kiss is full of tenderness and soft reverence, his hearts feeling fit to burst and suddenly it feels like he has all the time in the world to just kiss River Song.

 

In light of the recent information concerning her DNA, he supposes that maybe he does.

 

When they part, River’s eyes remain closed as she sways somehow even further into him, a soft, happy smile playing across her lips.

 

“Hello sweetie,” she murmurs, finally giving him the greeting he was expecting.

 

The Doctor grins.  “That’s more like it.”

 

With a fond roll of her eyes, River takes her hand in his and pulls him inside her tiny cottage, the door closing behind them.  She leads him to her bedroom where she removes her- _his_ \- shirt in one graceful movement.  The earthlight streaming through her window basks her in pale blues and soft shadows, and as she extends her hand toward him the Doctor thinks that he has never laid eyes upon someone so beautiful.  How is he supposed to resist her?

 

Linking his fingers with hers, he allows River to pull him toward the bed and thinks that perhaps resistance has been futile from the very beginning.

 

He spends one long, glorious night in River Song’s bed before returning to his TARDIS.  He wanted to stay longer, ask more questions he knows she can’t answer, and simply lay and listen to the reassuring beat of her twin hearts for hours on end.  But he has little Melody to find, and somehow it feels like the clock is ticking despite him having a time machine.

 

The Doctor leaves River with a kiss and a promise to be back soon, but she only manages a tight lipped smile in return, something that the Doctor briefly wonders at but doesn’t give much thought.  It’s not until months later does he finally understand her less than thrilled reaction of him setting off on the rescue mission.

 

It’s been _weeks_.  And nothing.  _Nothing_.

 

Exhausted after months of searching and having his hope stolen right from his hearts, the Doctor sits morosely in the swing under the console, gently pushing himself back and forth.  Amy- his sweet, little Amelia- just finished leaving another message with his TARDIS phone.  He couldn’t bear being on the other end of the line while she asked tearfully where her daughter is.  More than anything he wishes he could give her an answer.

 

When he finally pushes himself off the swing and exits the TARDIS to see where his beloved ship has taken him next, his hearts only sink at the sight of the little cottage before him.  River stands on her porch, wearing a thin sundress that ruffles in the light breeze and giving him a sad, knowing smile.

 

The Doctor swallows thickly and approaches her with heavy feet and heavy hearts.  Greedily, his hands pull her into him, his fingers digging into the flesh at her waist as he reassures himself that she is here and she is _safe_.

 

River wraps her arms around him and offers silent comfort, and the Doctor can feel the unspoken forgiveness rolling off her in waves.  Tears burn behind his eyes and the Doctor buries his face in her neck as he tries his best to ignore them.  He was supposed to find her and he _failed_.

 

“I can’t find you,” he whispers hoarsely, his grip on her becoming even more biting.

 

After a moment of silence, River only whispers, “You have to let me go.”

 

Jerking back, the Doctor stares at her, his hearts seizing his chest.  Noting the wetness in her eyes, the Doctor shakes his head and refuses to believe what he knew all along.  “I _never_ find you?”

 

River smiles tremulously, the slight wobble of her lips enough to break his hearts.  “Don’t you know by now, my love?  I’m always the one who finds _you_.”

 

 

_3)_

 

“You have to let me go.”

 

His not-yet-wife looks hopefully at him from across the console, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.  She’s so bloody _young_.  And _he_ is old enough to know that the expectant look she’s casting his way is far less innocent than it seems.

 

Going for aloof, the Doctor raises one thin brow and tries to look unimpressed.  “I thought you said you had to study for your finals.”

 

River saunters around the console to stand in front of him, the Doctor resolutely trying to keep his eyes on her face.  For whatever reason his very young _not_ wife enjoys prancing about in incredibly tiny denim cutoffs.  Even with his eyes trained determinedly on her face, his hands itch to just haul her against him and dig his fingers into the soft flesh of her bum.  It’s frustratingly distracting, and from the smirk currently gracing River’s lips, she _knows it_.  Infuriating woman.

 

Her hand slides up his chest to fiddle with his bowtie and she sticks her bottom lip out just enough to not quite be considered a full on pout but is sufficiently distracting nonetheless.  “That was _before_ you accidentally landed us in the middle of Empress Qareven IV’s coronation ball.  Besides,” she pauses to flash him a bright smile, “this is a time machine.  You can get me back on time.”

 

“Such faith in me,” he manages drily, knowing she never openly displays trust in his driving skills unless she wants something.

 

“Always, sweetie.”  The teasing glint in her eyes belies the sentiment, but her smile is so hopeful and when he has he ever been able to deny his wife anything, young or not?  Resting his hands on her waist, he inwardly wishes she was a bit older so he could dissuade her in some sort of… _rewarding_ manner.

 

Heaving a sigh just for show, the Doctor gives a slight nod.  “Fine.  _But_ ,” he says, holding up a finger even as her face lights up with glee, “no causing any trouble, Miss Song.”

 

River scoffs, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips that he gladly takes as a gesture of gratitude.  “It’s hardly my fault trouble follows me everywhere.”

 

The Doctor snorts and she winks before spinning out of his arms and all but skipping to the TARDIS doors.  Too busy admiring the fullness and curve of her arse in those shorts, he almost lets her walk right out the door without a word.  “Wait!”  He exclaims, his tone a bit higher pitched than he would care to admit.  “You can’t wear _that_!”

 

Hand on the door handle, River turns to him with a raised brow.  “Why not?”

 

“ _Because_.”  He flails a bit, gesturing wildly to her form.  “You- you’re- _no_ \- it’s the Empress’s coronation, River!”

 

Her look turns unamused.  “Doctor.  It’s year 4144.  We’re on the planet Saulara and this coronation is the party of the _century_ \- these shorts are going to be the least of your worries.”

 

The Doctor gives a huff.  “Just…just see what the TARDIS has in the wardrobe for you?”

 

River’s eyebrows shoot skyward, her grip on the door handle immediately loosening in face of her curiosity.  “The TARDIS has something picked out for me?”

 

“Of course she does,” he answers immediately, belatedly realizing that this must be River’s first outing with him that requires a change of clothes.  _Young_ , he repeats to himself, swallowing against the uncomfortable reminder that he has less and less time with her every time they meet.

 

He chooses to fiddle pointlessly with the TARDIS controls as she disappears down one of the many corridors, reappearing minutes later in an outfit that immediately has his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

 

A long, flowy skirt with an intricate design and symmetrical splits on either side rests low on her hips, the adornments at the hem jingling lightly with each step.  Her matching top exposes a fair amount of midriff, and as she fiddles with the sash that completes the look, he can’t help but stare.  Perhaps those shorts would have been better after all.

 

“Is this better?”  She asks, already smirking at him like she knows exactly what filthy thoughts are running through his mind.

 

“Culturally appropriate?  Yes.  Better?  Well…that depends on your definition.”  His hands immediately reach for her, his fingers skimming over the exposed skin of her stomach.  River shivers at his touch, immediately leaning into him.

 

“You could just take me to bed instead.”  The suggestion comes out in a low purr that is accompanied by a soft kiss to his neck that immediately doubles the rate of his breathing.

 

 _Young!_   His mind screams this time and he immediately steps out of her touch, feeling just as disappointed as she looks.  Forcing a smile, he bops her lightly on the nose.  “I do believe we have a party to attend, Miss Song.”

 

From one second to the next, that disappointed look is replaced by a smile that fills his insides with warmth and she slips her arm through his.  Distantly, he finds himself thinking that every aspect of him has never fit so well with every aspect of another being.  Bespoke indeed.

 

The minute they step out of the TARDIS doors it is all too apparent that something isn’t quite right.  They’re definitely on Saulara and it’s definitely the 42nd Century and it is _definitely_ the coronation ball for Empress Qareven IV.  But the grand room is too quiet, nothing but mingling and light chatter with structured dancing.  Texts and firsthand accounts describe this night as possibly being the wildest royal event that the planet has ever experienced.

 

The Doctor stares around the room, frowning as he finds that even the new Empress herself looks driven to the edge of boredom.

 

He looks down at River who immediately gives him a saucy smirk that is bound to be followed by an amount of trouble he will be unable to resist.  “I guess we have some history to make, sweetie.”

 

 

_4)_

 

River huffs as he pulls the clothes from her bag for the third time and dumps them onto the floor of their shared closet.  With a glare, River snatches three different shirts and promptly stuffs them into the bag.  “Doctor.  If you haven’t noticed, I am trying to _pack_.”

 

“Yes, dear.  For your expedition, I know.  And I am _unpacking_.”  The Doctor gives her a smile that he hopes doesn’t look as forced as it feels.  Since he woke this morning, River has done nothing but chatter on about the call she received while he was sleeping.  A call from the Felman Lux Corporation asking her to head a particularly tricky expedition.  Never before has a simple phone call done him so much damage.

 

Swallowing the bile rising in his throat, the Doctor removes the shirts she just placed in her bag and returns to the closet, adding them to the rapidly growing pile on the floor.  Glancing up, the Doctor flinches when he is met with the sight of the green shimmering gown hanging right before him.

 

Gritting his teeth, he slams the closet door shut, resolutely ignoring the less than subtle hint that the TARDIS is trying to give him.  It’s not time.  It _can’t_ be.  It seems like she only just walked into his life, what right does she have to just walk right back out again?

 

Ignoring the stinging behind his eyes, the Doctor balls his hands into fists to try to stop their shaking and slowly turns back to face his wife.  River watches him closely, her lips pressed into a line and her brow furrowed as she somehow manages to express silent concern.  He supposes that he’s not as good at hiding his emotions as he would like to think.

 

River approaches him, nothing but softness in her gaze and her fingers tenderly swiping his fringe from his eyes.  Her touch causes him to inhale sharply, the pain at the simple thought of losing her proving to already be far worse than he could have ever imagined.

 

“Oh, my love,” River whispers.  “What’s wrong?”

 

Instead of answering, the Doctor pulls her into a crushing embrace, needing to just feel her solid form against him.  Burying his face into her curls, he breathes in deeply and tightly shuts his eyes against the tears threatening to spill over.  It’s okay.  She’s still here.  _He still has time_.

 

Her fingers curl reassuringly into the material at the back of his tweed, and somehow, he convinces her to stay without using any words at all.

 

The next morning, the Doctor wakes and for a moment he thinks that perhaps her being called to the Library was nothing more than a nightmare.  When he stumbles sleepily into the kitchen to fetch River a mug of tea and himself a glass of milk, he is quickly snapped back to reality.

 

The green gown hangs from one of the cabinet handles, a stark reminder of the last, predestined adventure he is meant to have with his wife.  Suddenly wide awake, the Doctor snatches the dress from the cabinet and stalks through a few winding corridors until he reaches the console room.  With a few ill thoughts directed at his ship, he jerks the doors open and hurls the dress into space.

 

“Sweetie?”

 

The Doctor twirls on his heels at River’s voice, spotting her standing on the stairs and frowning at him sleepily.  She is adorably sleep-rumpled, clothed in nothing more than the sheet from their bed and her curls a tangled mess.  A soft smile tugs at the edges of his lips.

 

“Come along, wife,” he speaks, pressing a fond kiss to her brow before taking her hand and pulling her down a corridor leading to their bedroom.  “It’s Sunday.  No adventures today.”

 

It continues like that for almost two weeks- the Doctor sufficiently distracting River from leaving for her expedition and him clinging to her more than ever before.  Once, she even tried to sneak out while he was sleeping only for him to catch her around the waist and spin her away from the doors.  _“You have to let me go,”_ she had said with a bright laugh, as if delighted by his newfound clingy nature. 

 

The simple sound of that laugh had halted his hearts.  Perhaps he should have clung to her more often.

 

The day that he walks into the console room and sees the green gown hanging from a coat rack and shimmering in the warm light of the TARDIS, he knows it’s time.

 

With hearts that feel like lead and feet that seem to carry him without his permission, he takes the dress in hand and heads to their room.  He enters to see River lounging happily amongst the covers, her form sprawled out across the entire bed in what seems to be utter contentment.

 

For a moment he only stares at her, taking in her golden skin, her riotous curls spilled across her pillow, and the happy smile that tugs ever so slightly at the edges of her lips.  He wants to remember her like this forever.

 

River stretches and smiles at him.  “Hello sweetie.”

 

“Hello, dear,” the Doctor returns, bending down to press a soft kiss to her lips.  She hums happily and somehow it brings even more pain into his hearts.

 

Refusing to look at her in case she sees right through him, the Doctor keeps his eyes fastened on the dress as he drapes it at the foot of the bed.

 

“Put this on.  I’ll pick you up in half an hour.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye he sees her smile confusedly.  “Pick me up?  Sweetie, I’m already onboard.”

 

The Doctor faces her with a mild glare.  “Must you always be so stubborn, wife?  I’m trying to be romantic.”

 

River’s face lights up as she immediately moves into sitting position.  “Where are we going?”

 

“The Singing Towers.”

 

 

_1)_

 

If he thought he had been enduring pain in the few days before she left, nothing had prepared him for the pure agony that comes _after_.

 

The morning after the Towers had cued River’s exit out of his life.  She left with a kiss to his lips, a smile on her face, and a _‘Till the next time, sweetie!’_   The Doctor could only hold her to him one last time, all the words he wanted to say stuck in his throat as he breathed in her scent for a final time and tried not to shake as she pulled away.  When the TARDIS doors closed behind her, so did the doors to his hearts.

 

The moment she left was the moment he could no longer support himself on his trembling knees, immediately dropping into sitting position on the stairs leading to the console.  His beloved ship was more silent than he has heard her in years, as if in the same disbelieving stage of grief as he.  It makes sense, he supposes- he lost his wife, his ship lost her child, and not even having all of time and space at their disposal can bring her back.

 

Except that was where he was wrong.  The Doctor sits on those stairs for an indistinguishable amount of time- it could have been days, it could have been _years_ , the emotional pain rippling through his body proving too much for him to be able to _breathe_ , yet alone stand.  But it is there, on those steps, that he hears his dead wife’s voice again.

 

“Brooding already, I see,” River tsks.

 

Her voice in the sudden silence of the TARDIS nearly shocks him into his next regeneration.  Her form moves over him and he shuts his eyes tightly, burying his face in his hands as he reminds himself that _she is dead_.  She can’t be here- she can’t be anything more than a hallucination.  Perhaps his old age has finally caught up with him.

 

“Oh, my love,” River whispers as she crouches before him, her voice laced with a heavy sadness.  Her fingers brush the fringe from his face and the simple touch causes him to flinch violently.  How can he _feel her_ if she isn’t real?

 

River gasps at his reaction.  “Can you feel me?  Can you _hear_ me?”  Her voice is full of disbelief and the Doctor wants nothing more than to look up, take her into his arms and say _yes, of course, dear- what took you so long to come back to me?_

 

Instead he only presses his palms into his eyes, an anguished sob finally escaping his throat as his dead wife curls her hands around his arm reassuringly.  He can feel her disappointment at his lack of response to her, but what does she want him to do?  Acknowledge her as a ghost haunting his footsteps?  No.  That path only brings madness and pain.

 

In a way, he should have known that playing ignorant to her presence would be just as painful.  He craves every touch he refuses to respond to, every smile that he can only appreciate from the corner of his eye, and every word that he pretends not to hear.

 

Regardless of him playing deaf to her voice, the Doctor listens to everything she tells him, hanging on her every word like that could be enough to sustain him until the end of time.  So when she tells him to get his skinny arse off the stairs and to quit grieving over her, he does.  Well, perhaps not the grieving part, but he does manage to pull himself up from the place he has been rooted in for what seems like decades.

 

He listens when she tells him he needs a change of scene and parks his ship on a cloud above Victorian London.  And it takes him almost three centuries, but he listens when she reprimands him for being on his own for far too long and finally takes in another companion- a rather impossible girl, if he does say so himself.  _Good choice, my love_ , River had said with a smile.

 

He listens when she suggests a place for an adventure, listens when he gets himself and Clara into a situation that is a bit too sticky for his liking, and listens when she tells him to _run, sweetie_.

 

Her ghost becomes just as much of a permanent fixture in his life as the perpetual pain in his hearts that he has been enduring since she left.  Somehow, this echo of his wife that pushes at the edges of his sanity is at the same time the only thing that is keeping him together.  So when silence settles after the events of Trenzalore, he returns to that place on the stairs and the anguish over losing his wife returns tenfold.

 

After centuries of letting her play his guardian, he had finally turned to her and looked right at her instead of right through her.  He spoke to her, touched her, _kissed_ her, and then let her go.

 

Except he didn’t, not really.  How could he ever let River Song, Melody Pond, _his wife_ , go?

 

This time when he cries, not even River’s ghost is there to console him.

 

Without her it feels as if someone has scraped at his hearts until they were left completely hollow and aching.  He thought acknowledging her ghost would have brought him intolerable pain, and he was right, but he had no clue that the pain caused by her simple absence would be far worse.

 

In the time that follows, he finds that even as he has adventures, solves mysteries, and gets into more trouble than ever before, he never even comes close to letting River Song go.  Sometimes, when he is having to work out a particularly difficult problem, he’ll hear her voice offering the answer and he’ll have to spin on his heel to make sure she isn’t actually there.  On those days, more often than not, he’ll seclude himself somewhere deep in the TARDIS until Clara manages to drag him out again, the pain at a simple reminder of his wife rendering him to a stagnant state of misery for days on end.  Perhaps time really doesn’t heal all wounds.

 

When he finds himself stuck on Christmas (the town, not the holiday), he is confined to one space and is forced to pass time linearly.   Every day he wakes to be greeted with a new line or wrinkle on his face, or streaks of grey shooting through the dark locks of his hair.  His mortality has never felt more real, and on the days he gathers the children of the town around him and tells them stories of his curly-haired, time-traveling wife, he thinks he is grateful he is finally nearing the end of his run.  After all, what is the point of running when he doesn’t have her hand to hold?

 

When his end does finally come, it doesn’t happen in the way he expects.  But then again when does it ever?  This time it is not only a regeneration, but a _rejuvenation_ \- he’ll have a whole new set of lives to burn through.  His stomach churns at the thought but he quickly pushes it aside.  Perhaps his new self will be much more adept at handling all of the loss he has had to endure, especially when it comes to the one he still hasn’t managed to let go.   

 

The energy sizzles under his skin, crackling and popping and searing along his bones.  A great pressure builds at the base of his skull and suddenly he feels just too much, too full for this body, and- he sneezes.

 

The Doctor opens his eyes, giving himself a slight shake and looking down at his hands.  They’re old hands.  Well, not _old_ , but they’re not _new_ hands.  They’re the exact same hands he’s had since saying goodbye to his tenth self.

 

“Sweetie?”

 

The Doctor freezes at her voice, the air suddenly gone from his lungs as he continues to stare resolutely at his hands.  It can’t possibly be her.

 

For the first time, the Doctor notices that he is no longer standing on the solid flooring of his TARDIS, rather his boots are planted firmly in the greenest grass he as ever seen.  His hearts race as everything begins to click in place, his eyes slowly lifting to the figure standing before him.

 

River stands there, her green eyes wide in disbelief and the hem of her white dress fluttering in the breeze.  For a moment it feels like he is incapable of producing words, everything getting stuck in his throat as he greedily drinks in the sight of his wife for the first time in centuries.

 

Tears sting at his eyes and he reaches for her with trembling hands.  Immediately, River places her hands in his and her touch alone is enough to cause the tears to begin to spill down his face.

 

With wet eyes, River steps into his space and gingerly cups the side of his face with her hand, her thumb sweeping tenderly outward across his cheekbone.  “Oh, my love, what are you doing here?”  A tear slips down her face.  “You were supposed to let me go.”

 

The Doctor shakes his head vehemently and pulls her into a crushing embrace, the feeling of her body against his like a balm to wound that has been festering for a lifetime.  “Never again,” he promises fiercely.

 

River presses her face in his shoulder and he can feel her hot tears drop onto the skin of his neck as she protests, “I’m dead.”

 

The Doctor smiles suddenly, his hearts feeling lighter than ever before.  “You know what?  So am I.”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Reviews are always welcome and are arguably better to receive than surprise cupcakes...which is saying a lot (:


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